


Banner High

by redandgold



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Manchester United, aka fml, class of '92
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/pseuds/redandgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banner High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shannedo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannedo/gifts).



> [the video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5NnTncquPE) where Scholesy's either going to have a mental breakdown or cry (and already almost is, tbh)  
> [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5d6r-XkX9k) from the '99 FA Cup final

Ryan makes it through half of the the video before turning it off. 

It isn't the points that any of them are making, although all of them ring in his ears like alarm bells that wouldn't stop. ( _ I didn't have a clue what they were trying to do. _ ) It's not the ghost of the scoreline that hangs at the bottom of the screen that doesn't read  _ Liverpool 2-0 United  _ but  _ we fucked up they fucked up I fucked up _ . It's in Paul's voice, the way he's never learnt to control it how Gary did, the cracks and aches and disbelief. Ryan's known him twenty years and two Champions League final losses. The last sixteen of the Europa league and it's the first time he's seen him close to tears. 

( _ There are certain standards to live up to and I think they are falling well short. _ )

Ryan turns away from the television and looks in the mirror. One blink and he's wearing red again, all cocker spaniel and silver paper. He wishes it could be this easy. Paul lacing his boots up one more time, the gaffer -  _ the  _ gaffer - putting his watch on. Like normal. Like United. Like he wasn't forty three, retired, assistant manager to the worst side of red Manchester had seen in years.  _ They're destroying the United legacy now _ , said Paul. 

Ryan thinks,  _ am I _ ?

The semi-final seems longer than seventeen years ago.

His tie is creased and his phone is rusty. He picks it up and dials anyway. Paul answers on the first ring, worn around the edges. "It's not your fault, Giggsy." 

"I didn't say it was," Ryan says jokingly. 

"Neither did I." 

There's a beat. Ryan's still sat in the away dressing room and he stares at the cream-coloured walls, the red stripes mocking him. It's not the end of the world. There's a return leg. We'll get better. We'll come back.

"Olympiacos," Paul says as if reading his mind, and Ryan laughs.

"Yeah, right." 

"Okay. Spurs, '01." 

"They'd still go through on away goals, you clot." 

He'd been out for that game, but he remembers being sat in the away end, four of them starting and Phil on the bench. Gary yelling pointlessly at everyone, Nicky and his tackles almost as awful as Paul's, Becks's dying-minute free kick. Five different goal-scorers they'd had that day, five goals. Ryan tries to remember what the back of the net sounded like. 

( _ It was simple. _ ) 

Paul says, "Gaz lost." 

"I know." It'd been the first thing Ryan had checked after the dressing-down. God, he thinks, weren't fairy tales supposed to have happy endings? 

"He asked about the game. I almost didn't have the heart to tell him." 

Ryan picks himself up and walks out of the room, taking a left, looking for the stands. "I bet he's busy deleting the two hundred unread messages Carragher's sent him." 

"Probably got Phil to do it while he tries to drown himself in the shower. I said it was worse than his Goater howler. He didn't take it all that well." 

"You knob. The man's just lost a game." 

"Two. Two games."

Ryan swallows. It isn't just the game, they both know that. It's West Brom and Sunderland and Stoke, the constant redefinition of the worst game they've ever played, chasing fourth. ( _ That can't happen to Man United. Never in a million years can that happen. _ ) "He's gonna kill me, next chance he gets." 

"You can still run like fuck, can't you? Shove Fellaini in the way and leg it." 

He's found the away stand, all clear of people now but for one bald head looking at the grass on the pitch. "Y'know where we are," he says, and hangs up. Nicky hears his voice and turns around, his big, indefatigable smile flickering only slightly.

"Hey, loser." 

"Hey, loser." 

"Top of the league, game in hand. Suck it, old man." 

The joke hits harder than it should have. Nicky catches the look on Ryan's face and doesn't say anything else, moving over to let Ryan sit down till their knees touch. 

"West Ham next," Ryan says, wondering if Paul can still remember his hat trick, the 7-1. If it's worth remembering, or if it doesn't matter anymore, fading like this stadium into passing stories on old men's lips. ( _ For 20 years, United had an identity. _ ) None of them liked living in the past.

"Wembley next," Nicky says. Ryan looks at him, slightly incredulous. Nicky shrugs. "It's our team," he says simply. 

The crest on his suit is dark and gleaming. "What if - " he starts, stops when Nicky reaches out to put his hand over his. 

"We can't lose, remember? Even if we're total shit, which we are - soz, mate - but we can't lose. No what ifs, no buts." He grins like a kid. "Okay, maybe one Butt." 

"Get out." Ryan feels like he hasn't laughed in forever.

"You'll see. We're gonna lift it high." 

"Did you just quote that god-awful song?" Paul says, sliding in next to Ryan as quiet as he always is. "How'd it go - our only limit is the sky." 

"Aw, look, he remembers." Nicky leans across Ryan and ruffles Paul's hair. "He's got a heart after all." 

Paul scowls and bats Nicky's hand away. "More than you've got follicles." 

They banter back and forth and Ryan sits in the middle, leaning back, just listening. He's not going to tell either of them but he remembers the lyrics too, the bunch of them lined up in a studio, Schmeich bawling, Keano actually trying his best, Ole smiling all the way through. ' _ Cause through the triumph and the grief  _  - 

"Here," says Nicky. "Give youse a ride back. It's only thirty miles, so even with this fat fuck in the car it shouldn't be too much of a squeeze." 

"You forgot to factor in your big head," says Scholesy.

\-  _ it's all about -  _

They walk out to Nicky's car. There's no one else in the carpark now, no Schmeich or Keano or Ole; no Dave and Morgan and Anthony. He'll see them tomorrow. Yes, Ryan thinks as the car jerks to life, three old men no longer wearing red shirts but always red, and young lads to wear it for them. There's always a tomorrow. 

_ \- it's all about belief.  _

As the car trundles down Wharfside Way, Nicky takes his foot off the gas a little. They roll by the hulking shadows of their home, no one saying a word. Ryan reaches to smooth out his suit, feels the rough knitted crest beneath his fingers.

 

Then they are past, and Nicky cranks the gear up again. They roll on towards the river. In London, the lights of Wembley are shining.

 

 

 

_ Then raise United's banner high, _

_ Beneath its shade we'll live and die, _

_ So keep the faith and never fear, _

_ We'll keep the Red Flag flying here. _

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "I remember the first time I saw him. He was 13 and just floated over the ground like a cocker spaniel chasing a piece of silver paper in the wind." - Sir Alex  
> 2\. Olympiacos was when we won 3-0 after losing 2-0 in the first leg  
> 3\. Spurs '01 was when we won 5-3 from being 3-0 down at half time  
> 4\. Valencia lost 1-0 to Bilbao  
> 5\. United u21s are top of their league  
> 6\. Scholesy got a hat trick when we beat West Ham 7-1 in 2000. [relevant tweet](https://twitter.com/GNev2/status/562870346513391616) from probably the most disappointed man in the world yesterday :(  
> 7\. Wharfside Way runs right next to OT and is on the way back from Liverpool  
> 8\. All the bracketed italic quotes are verbatim Scholesy rant  
> 9\. For Ellen bc god we're so shit lmao and I know the whole fa cup thing is a pipe dream sobs but, y'know. we'll never die. still. <3


End file.
